


Where the River Ends

by Arinariel



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Age event gap filler, Gen, Grief and Loss, Mentions Egalmoth, Mentions Thingol, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 08:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13520718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arinariel/pseuds/Arinariel
Summary: First Age 538 at the Mouth of Sirion. Early dawn, Thranduil finds the Feanorian army heading toward the white tower in Arvernien where Elwing resides.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a part of the larger work, What It Means to be a King. Many of these chapters (Ch1, 6 & 7) were used on the larger work, but on the whole, it can be read alone.

**The mouth of River Sirion. May 25, First Age 538**

 

 **< 5:24AM> ** **THRANDUIL** urged his horse down a stretch of sand. The beach was empty as always. This area was not far from the Elven settlements, but no one ventured out here. It was a secluded strip of sand hidden under a sheer cliff which jutted out above the beach. Standing above the cliff, one could not see the sandy area underneath. It wouldn’t be until Thranduil was past the shadow of the rock above him that anyone on the top of the cliff could see him.

This was his secret place which Thranduil shared with no one, not even with Aron and Durion, not that they had much time for him these days. Although Thranduil reached his majority twenty years ago, his father’s warriors took every opportunity to leave him behind. Even when he was included, Thranduil was kept at the back, away from the dangers, where he was allowed to pick off Orcs from distance.

Thranduil knew, of course, that he was too young to be initiated into the Warrior Order, but times were different now. They needed every abled body who could wield a sword or a bow. Dangers around them had grown while the number of warriors diminished. So many of the warriors had been lost at Menegroth.

But while he convinced his father to train him as soon as he turned his majority, which was considered too early for such martial training, warriors kept him away from the heat of the battle whenever they could. But, how was he to learn to be a warrior when he was always pushed behind the backs of others whenever there was any skirmish worth mentioning?

This time, too, while Lord Amdir took Aron and Durion to meet with the warriors from Noldorin settlement to stop Orcs that were encroaching too near their haven, Thranduil had been excluded.

His mother, at least, had given up trying to turn Thranduil into a healer. Not only was the healing art something Thranduil had no talent in, but the young Sinda also wasn’t even remotely interested in it. Thranduil had no idea why his mother had it in her mind to make him a healer.

Tamping down the mounting frustration, Thranduil urged his horse into a run. He was not allowed outside the living quarters during evenings, certainly not around the marshes and definitely not in the open areas like this beach, but Thranduil figured what his parents did not know wouldn’t hurt them. At least, if they found him missing in the morning, they wouldn’t be as alarmed as they would be to find him missing after the dark.

So far, the Dark Lord’s creatures had not found their settlements, but there were dangers all around them, especially at night when Orcs and Wargs prowled. But at times like these when the sun was rising, and everything glittered golden, Thranduil felt it was still like those old times, back in Doriath, under the beech trees of the Forest of Neldoreth.

As Thranduil felt Brennil stretch her neck and thunder down the firmly packed sand, trembling with excitement at being allowed to run freely, he closed his eyes and spread his arms wide and felt the winds rush past him, whipping his hair and face. He was sure that if he could fly, it would feel like this.

He whooped at the top of his lung, as loud as he could and laughed out loud. This was the only place he could do this as the noise of the waves and wind masked all the sounds he made, no matter how loud.

All shadows that clung to him seem to disappear, all his frustrations and anger that he wanted to hide from his father and especially from his gentle mother.

Thranduil’s chest filled with wind and the pale light of the dawn, chasing away the shadows. Feeling his head clearer, Thranduil rode back up the narrow track between the two large boulders. The entry to the beach area was hidden by tall grasses that grew abundant here. Thranduil had found this pass only two moons ago, tracking a game.

Just as he got up onto the grassland by the bank of the river that flowed down into the sea, Thranduil looked up towards the white tower of Arvernien as he always did when he was here. The Noldorin settlement where Elwing lived with her husband Earendil and the refugees from Gondolin was built on a top of a cliff, westward from the Sindarin settlement headed by his father.

There was something heavy laden over its sky, something dark.

Curious, Thranduil rode towards it. Elwing’s mansion was only an hour of hard ride away although his mother would not approve of Thranduil riding that fast.

The first thing Thranduil saw was tall spears that shone in the faint light of the dawn. In the red gleam of the rising sun that had not yet risen over the _Ered Luin_ , the golden armors and helms of the soldiers glowed blood red. When he was close, but far enough to not gather their notice, Thranduil got off his horse and crept towards the soldiers. If there was one thing he had learned from his father’s warriors, it was stealth. And these soldiers in gold armors and red capes were obviously Noldor, and Thranduil had learned to be wary of them.

When Thranduil saw the device on the armors glinting on the faint dawn, he froze. He could never forget it: Eight flames with eight rays shooting out of a jewel in the middle. A device of Feanor.

Thranduil’s heart pounded like a war drum.

\------------

 **Arvernien (** Sindarin,  _Land of Birches)_ **—** Southernmost tip of Beleriand where Cirdan established a secret haven for the Elves running from Morgoth. In FA 506 Feanor’s sons attacked Menegroth and Sindarin refugees fled here and established a settlement by the Mouth of Sirion. They were joined by the refugees from Gondolin in FA 511 (they took close to a year to travel to the haven).

 **Ered Luin** (Sindarin, _Blue Mountains_ )—also known as Ered Lindon, it was an unbroken line of the mountain range during First Age which separated Eriador from Beleriand. After the War of Wrath, the central range of the mountains broke when the Beleriand sank

 

 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and his mother convince Oropher to help defend Elwing.

**Sindarin Settlement at Sirion. May 25, First Age 538**

 

 **< 5:55 AM> ** “ _Ada_!”

Thranduil burst into the courtyard of his father’s house. The few who were up and about, among them his father, turned. His father was sitting on a long table set up in the courtyard with Lord Seledhel and Lord Istuion. These three lords were always up earlier than others. Underneath a large oak, not too far from the courtyard, his mother sat on a grassy area underneath writing in her journal.

His father got up from the chair when he saw Thranduil.

“What is it, son?”

Thranduil willed his trembling to stop but could not still it. His mother rushed to his side and took up his hand, warming his cold fingers.

“What is it, dearest? What is the matter? Bad dreams again?”

Her comforting hands calmed the young Sinda, and Thranduil managed a whisper.

“The Noldor. The kinslayers are coming…”

His father’s face darkened as Lord Seledhel and Istuion’s faces paled.

“They are on their way to the Noldorin Settlement,” Thranduil finished.

“They are after the Silmaril,” Istuion said quietly. “They must have heard that Lady Elwing is there.”

Lady Arinariel gasped, but Oropher let out a breath and scoffed.

“Let Noldor kill each other. What is it to me? As long as they do not come here, it is no business of mine. They have their own warriors in their settlement. Let them defend it.”

“Father, Elwing has the Silmaril. They will attack Elwing. And Earendil is not even there…he is in one of his voyages,” Thranduil said bitterly.

“And they are sparsely guarded,” Seledhel said. He was one of the high councilors at Doriath who now served as his father’s adviser.

The elderly councilor shook his head, worry evident in his dark gray eyes.

“Remember, my lord? We sent third of our warriors out on the Orc patrol beyond the swamp with Lord Amdir. Guards from the Noldorin settlement are with them,” said Seledhel. “Likely it is that Maedhros had taken that into account when he decided to strike now. They must have been watching the settlements.”

“And, their warriors and ours are not scheduled to return for another week,” Istuion said.

“Father, please! If we don’t help them, Elwing will be in danger. She has the twins…”

Thranduil’s mother turned to Oropher.

“Oropher, you have to help them. They are Thingol’s only remaining heir. Will you let Feanor’s sons get to the last of Thingol’s direct line?”

Oropher ground his teeth.

“Istuion, send someone to get Himion. He should be checking on the guards. Have him gather as many warriors as he can. Fully armed. Also, send out a bird to Lord Cirdan. We will need his help. There are too few of us who are warriors, and these are hardened soldiers we will be facing. Send both a bird and a messenger to Amdir to return with haste. We cannot take any chance of him not receiving the message. When this battle is over, there may not be many of us standing,” Oropher said gravely. “Go!”

Like a strike on a beehive, the whole settlement was roused as horns blew in warning and to gather warriors. Soon, word of Noldorin army coming circulated. And, Elves some fully armed with weapons, mostly the surviving guards of Thingol who had remained with Oropher, and others began to gather in front of Oropher’s flet.

Thranduil grabbed his leather armor that had been made for him which he used during the few times he was allowed to accompany the warriors. When he approached the assembled warriors fully armed with his bow and the long daggers, however, Captain Himion blocked his way.

“You can’t come with us, Thranduil,” the captain of the former Royal Guards of Doriath said.

“I can fight, maybe not as well as others, but I have been training as a warrior if you have forgotten.”

“That may be true, young one, but your battle experience is minimal at best,” Captain Himion said. “You are not a full-fledged warrior yet,  _elfling._ ”

“I am not an elfling! I am going, and no one can stop me!” Thranduil glared up at the captain. He swore to protect Elwing. He will not be left behind.

“Oh yes I can,” Oropher said in a thunderous tone. Thranduil whirled around to face his father.

“Father, I can fight! I have been training for some time now. You let me fight the Orcs.”

“This is different, son. These Elven soldiers we will face today are not the mindless Orcs you have dealt with before. You will stay here.” His tone brooked no argument. With that, Oropher turned away to issue orders.

“But, father,” Thranduil could be as stubborn as his sire when he was aroused. “I want to fight. These are the same Elves who killed Thranarin…” But as soon as the name escaped his lips, Thranduil knew he had said the wrong thing as pain rippled through his heart. Everyone stopped in their preparation and silence filled the air. One could hear the green leaves budding overhead in the heavy silence. His brother’s name had not been spoken since the last day of Menegroth.

Oropher turned around slowly to face Thranduil.  His father’s face, usually serene and calm, was pale and drawn.

“Not. One. More. Word, Thranduil.” His father’s voice was barely above a whisper, but no less potent. “You are no warrior, yet, my son.”

Thranduil fisted his hands and turned to the others gathered in front of them.

“Many of them are not warriors, but they are going,” Thranduil pointed to the artisans, councilors and other Elves who used to live or work at Menegroth. Many of them were wearing hunting gears, holding anything that could be used as weapons.

Oropher looked around at those gathered. He gathered his brows and a deep line furrowed between them.

“You cannot join us, Lord Seledhel,” Oropher turned to the elder councilor who had lost two of his three children at Menegroth. “You are no warrior.” Then, he turned to those whose main line of work had been anything other than guarding Doriath.

“This fight is not for you. We are not fighting some bumbling Orcs,” Oropher said. “Those who are not trained as a warrior must step aside. In fact, anyone under 300 years of age must stay here even if you have become a warrior.”

“My lord!” several younger Elves in the blue and silver armor of Doriath protested.

“We are warriors. We are not artisans, nor are we councilors. We are trained to fight.”

“We have lost loved ones, too, Lord. We have a right to join in this battle,” one of the gardeners at Menegroth shouted as others nodded in agreement.

His father’s eyes were hard and dark with emotion.

“Look at you! When have we become so eager to kill one of our own kind?” His father’s voice thundered across the clearing where everyone was gathered. A hush filled those who had protested just a moment ago.

With unfathomable eyes filled with sorrow so keen anyone who looked on them could not but weep, his father looked around those Elves gathered in front of him.

“We are not Noldor. This is not about revenge but about protecting one of our own.” His father’s voice shook as it rang out. “We are not leaving to fight Orcs or some goblins sent by the Dark Lord. It will be the red blood of kin that will be spilled this day. Do you think any one of us really want this? Do you think I want this?” His father’s voice cracked.  “We will fight because we have no choice. We are warriors. It is our duty to fight and to protect.” Oropher turned to eye each of those who are not in a warrior armor. “Each one of you has your own duty, your own obligations to meet. There will be others who will need your help. Do your job and let us do ours.”

Then, he turned to the young warriors, those of Durion and Aron’s age who had not reached three hundred years of age. “You are needed here more than with us. The guards who protected this settlement will not be here. It is now in your hands to protect this place. Stay here and protect. That is your duty.” Then, he turned to Lord Seledhel. “We do not have much time. Lord Seledhel, you know what is expected.”

The elder lord nodded, his eyes dark and grave.

 


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil plans to slip out of the settlement.

**<** 7:28AM **>**   Thranduil watched the last of the warriors leave their small settlement by the river.  He pursed his lips, feeling the sympathetic eyes of Tatharion on him. The elder Elf and his warrior companion were the two of three elder guards who were left behind at the settlement to oversee the younger warriors. But Thranduil was sure that one of the reasons Tatharion was left behind was to make sure Thranduil stay in the settlement. Since the day they have left the burning Menegroth, Tatharion had always been the one to watch over him.

Thranduil looked at his mother who was instructing women to gather herbs to prepare medicines and potions as well as food. They were preparing for the injured and possible refugees who may come this way. Thranduil was instructed to help the ladies gather the materials when he slipped out and found his way toward a wooden structure beyond the trees which housed residential _talans_. An open stable was built there to provide shelter for the horses in times of foul weather. To the stable, Thranduil sprinted. When he was halfway through the residential section, just a few trees away from the tree where his own flet was situated, a dark shape blocked his way.

“Where are you going?”

Thranduil jumped at the terse call. It was Tatharion.

Without thinking and purely on reflex, Thranduil pointed toward the direction of the stable.

“Tree?” Tatharion raised one eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes, the tree,” Thranduil said quickly realizing his mistake. Feeling the heat on his face, Thranduil glared up at the Sindarin warrior with as much scorn in his voice as he could muster. “My mother wanted me to make a list of potions and herbs available. Is that acceptable to you?”

Better that Tatharion thought him disrespectful than lying. And, he wasn’t lying exactly. He was supposed to do that for his mother.

“At the flet?”

“My mother keeps them in her room if you have forgotten.” Thranduil pointed up at the tree.

Tatharion pursed his lips but gave a terse nod.

Thranduil felt the elder guard’s eyes burning a hole on his back as he went up the rope ladder to his family’s  _talan_.

He will wait.

After few minutes, Thranduil looked out the window. Tatharion was standing guard at the foot of the tree. Thranduil had expected it. Still, it angered him. But, he had never let that stop him before, and it will not stop him now.  Elwing may be in trouble, and he was not going to sit and wait for news.

Being quiet as possible, he left his room through a window, then he went further up the tree. He had done this before to get out of his room without detection, so it was nothing new to him. Once he was on the farthest branch and was sure no one on the ground could see him, he jumped to a branch of the next tree. He had learned to silently jump and run over the branches of trees years ago from one of the Nandor when Thranduil was a child in Doriath, years ago now when he was but a child running around the forest of Neldoreth. He had improved the skill over the years as it came very handy when he needed to get away without his parents’ notice.

When he was sure that Tatharion cannot see him, Thranduil quickly climbed down from the tree he was on. As warriors had gathered and left not long ago, all of the settlement was up. People gathered in groups to talk, looking worried. His mother was nowhere to be seen. Probably busy preparing medicines.

Thranduil pulled on the hood of his gray cloak to hide his hair. It was times like this that he lamented at the bright color of his head. It always made it so easy for everyone to know who he was. He and his family were easy to tell apart from the rest of the Sindar and Nandor in the settlements due to their bright coloring. Sighing quietly, he pulled his hood closer as he hurried toward the stable.

The stable was empty.

He had expected it, but he had hoped that at least one or two horses were left. The Noldorin settlement wasn’t far, but on foot, it would take half a day's walk.  It would be too late then. Without a horse, there was no way he could go ahead, never mind catch up to the warriors.

Frustrated, Thranduil kicked at the pile of hay when he heard a neighing of a horse. As Thranduil turned around he came face to face with Earhin who walked in, holding the reins of two horses.

“Earhin?”

“Thranduil? What are you doing here?” The young Elf who was no more than three centuries older than Thranduil looked up.

Thranduil was thankful that he wore a cloak which hid his long daggers and the leather armor he wore under it. He couldn’t help the bow and the quiver behind his back, however.

“I…uh… was about to go hunting. The warriors all had to go, and I am left to do the hunting for tonight’s dinner. Do you think I could use the horse?”

Thranduil hoped he sounded convincing even as he felt the sharp bite of guilt at having to lie. He knew how much his parents disapproved of lying. He was taught that an Elf of honor did not lie, nor needed to do so. But Elwing’s life may be in danger. He had sworn that he will do everything in his power to keep her safe. If his duty demanded his honor, how could he not give it?

Earhin blinked few times.

“I guess… but I was told to keep these horses ready in case we have to send messages…”

“Messages?”

“To your father or Lord Amdir, or maybe a message to Lord Cirdan when he arrives.”

“Didn’t they send a bird to Lord Cirdan and Lord Amdir already?”

Earhin shrugged.

“I don’t know about that. I only know what they told me.”

“Well, I need the horse now. You have two. I could take one, and if there is any message to my father, I could send it to him. You could have Lord Seledhel send a bird to me.”

Earhin frowned. “I should check with Lord Seledhel…”

“Lord Seledhel is busy getting people ready in the event of refugees from the Noldorin settlement. You sure he has time to listen to you? Do what you wish but be quick about it. I don’t have much time. I have been told to get the hunting done quickly as possible. I will have to blame you if I am late because I had to go hunting on foot.”

Hesitantly, Earhin handed the horse’s rein to Thranduil.

“I guess…, but if you get a message for Lord Oropher, you have to go as soon as you get it. Promise?”

_________

 

 **talan** (Sindarin,  _platform_ )– a wooden platform built on trees. In LOTR, you see this in Lorien when the fellowship arrives at Lorien to meet Celeborn and Galadriel. But I believe this structure is learned from wood elves. Sindar learned to make this through Nandor who arrived later at Beleriand (in my headcanon).

 **elfling** –elf child

 


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil arrives at Elwing's residence and finds the place besieged.

**White Tower of Arvernien.  May 25, First Age 538**

 

 **< 8:55 AM> **Thranduil left the horse at the bottom of a cliff and climbed up the steep incline which led to the back of the main building where Elwing lived with the twins. Not wanting to go through the guards, Thranduil had used this path to surprise Elwing whenever Earendil was away. The manor in which she lived was built overlooking the sea, and the side facing the sea had no walls. Already he could hear the shouts and clanging of metal as he reached near the white stone terrace.

Once at the top, Thranduil ran to the steep stone stairs that led to the courtyard below.

The gate had been breached, and the gold and white of Gondolin warriors stood like a shield wall preventing the red and gold armored Feanorians from advancing further. Behind the red line of the Feanorians, just inside the gates, were his father’s warriors in their silver Doriath armor. Despite being sandwiched between the gold armed Gondolin warriors and the silver armed Sindar, fewer gold and silver soldiers were standing compared to the red armored warriors. Unless aid came from Lord Cirdan soon, even to Thranduil’s inexperienced eyes, it was inevitable that the white tower will fall.  According to what he learned from Lord Seledhel, Feanorians were fierce warriors, and they were better skilled with weapons than any other.

Realizing there was not much time left before the Feanorian army would break into the mansion, Thranduil turned, his heart beating fiercely. He ran into the main building where he knew housed Elwing’s resident chambers.

There was no one there in the hallway of the lower floor which opened to the terrace. When the young Sinda ran up to the main part of the building, however, there was chaos. Broken vases and people running to and fro told the story. There were people holding bags and other items, scrambling in ordered chaos. Thranduil stopped one of the servant girls who looked familiar, one of the Sindarin maids who followed Elwing when she married Earendil.

She looked up at him wide-eyed.

“Where’s Lady Elwing? Is she still here?”

“I…I don’t know,” the girl stuttered, her eyes full of fear. Then, her eyes calmed as she took in his face and hair. “She…she is at her chambers, my lord. I must hurry.” She held up a small scroll in her hand. “Lady Elwing wanted me to deliver this.”

Thranduil let go, and the girl scampered away.

“Wait! Where are her chambers?” he shouted after her, but the girl was gone.

Thranduil had no choice but to look for the rooms on his own.  It was eerily quiet on the upper floor where he knew the family’s residences were located. He had never been to Elwing’s chamber. He had been up here only twice while Elwing lived with Earendil. While his mother visited Elwing in her chambers, Thranduil would go to the boys’ rooms to play with Elrond and Elros. 

Although Thranduil was only twenty years past his majority and considered a child by many, Elwing was married. It was not deemed proper for him to visit her at her bedchamber. As his mother, who was gentle and loving in all ways, was very strict when it came to manners and etiquette, the rare times when Thranduil visited alone, he stayed out on the terrace near the tower where he could always find Elwing whenever Earendil was away.

Once Thranduil was in the main hall, he found two Elves in their golden armor, fully armed with swordstaffs with broad blades that many of these Noldor from Gondolin favored. Their tall helms were decorated with crystals and molded with a high arch. Like golden sentinels, they stood, one on each side, at the tall double doors intricately carved with beautiful scroll design in gold over white wood. When Thranduil approached these doors, the two guards blocked his way.

“Follow others down the stairs,” one of the guards said. “A team of warriors is leading them to safety.”

“If you are guarding this room, Is that mean Lady Elwing is still here? Why isn’t she being moved with others?” Thranduil asked.

“She will. We are waiting for Lord Egalmoth.”

“She needs to go now! Have you seen what is happening outside?”

“We have our orders. Everything will be done in time. Move along, young one.”

“There is no time to wait!” Thranduil stomped his foot.

The Noldorin guard’s light-filled eyes surveyed Thranduil. The young Sinda pulled off his hood, raising his chin high up to meet the scrutiny. The guard’s fierce eyes subdued with recognition.

“You may be our lady’s kin, but you have no say here, elfling,” the guard said in a voice calm and sharp. “Begone!”

Thranduil fisted his hands.

“I am not leaving without Lady Elwing,” Thranduil said, then in the loudest voice he could muster, he called. “Elwing! Elwing! Are you in there?”

The other guard stepped forward and grabbed Thranduil’s arm.

“Leave here, now!” he commanded. The guard’s voice was filled with steel as he stood tall over Thranduil’s slight frame. Although seventy years old, unlike many of his kin at his age, Thranduil was still small and scrawny.

Thranduil shook off his arm and shouted even louder.

“Elwing!”

“Thranduil? Is that you?”

One of the double doors opened a crack and Elwing, holding a long dagger in one hand, stood at the door.

“My lady, you mustn’t…” the first guard who had warned Thranduil protested.

“Let him come in, Nestadion.” Elwing stood tall despite her short height compared to the guards.

The guard bowed to Elwing and gestured to the other guard who stepped aside. Thranduil pushed past the guard and into the room.

Inside, two nurses held the twins, one each in their arms.  Both nurses were armed, one with a bow and the other with a long dagger. Once the door closed behind Thranduil, Elwing flung her arms around him.

“Oh, thank the Valar! Is Lord Oropher here with his warriors?” she asked looking relieved.

“He is, but it will not hold Feanorians for long. There are too few of us, and even fewer of your husband’s warriors.”

“I know. They left three days ago. Are they not to join with Lord Oropher’s warriors?” It was not a question as Elwing moved away from Thranduil and drew her two sons into her arms.

“You cannot stay here, Elwing. It’s not safe,” Thranduil said. “Where’s the captain of your guards? Isn’t he supposed to guard you and the elflings? Why are there only two guards outside? Where are the rest? Why are you and the boys still here while rest of the household is being moved?”

“Lord Egalmoth was outside my chamber this morning as soon as we heard the clamor outside. He went to see to the fortifying of the walls. To return as soon as he was done with the surveying and the preparation. The captain asked me to stay here until then, but he did not come.”

“He is either fighting outside or …” Thranduil stopped when he saw the two elflings, their faces pale and wide-eyed. They moved closer to their mother, their hands clinging onto their mother’s skirt. They may not know what went on, but they knew fear.

Thranduil bit his tongue. They didn’t need to hear this.

“We sent a bird to Lord Cirdan, but I don’t know how long it will take for him to be here. You have to take the boys and hide,” Thranduil said.

“Where will we hide? Lord Egalmoth said we were surrounded.” Elwing drew her boys closer.

“There are some caves by the cliff. It is also closest to the dock where Lord Cirdan will land.”

“The path is too steep, Thranduil. And we would have to go out through the front gate which I understand is full of Feanorean warriors.”

“I know a path down from the cliff near your tower. Remember the one I take when I come for a visit?”

“That is even steeper and dangerous for the elflings” Elwing frowned.

“We can do it, nana,” one of the twins said.

Thranduil looked down at the twins. They looked so much alike, but Thranduil was sure that one was Elros. He was the reckless one, bold and mischievous, just like his father.

“There is a slightly gentler path. I think the elflings could handle it. We have to try it at the least, otherwise…Please, Elwing. We do not have time to argue.”

Elwing nodded. Leaving the boys to their nurses, she picked up a bundle that lay on a massive bed and took out an item that was carefully wrapped in silk and velvet. It glowed, illuminating Elwing’s face as she unfurled the fabric.

The light illuminated the entire room with the white light of uncommon beauty.

When King Dior wore it, Thranduil thought it was the most beautiful thing ever, maybe just a tiny bit more beautiful than his mother’s necklace, and maybe more valuable as King Thingol had paid for it with his life. But now, its brilliant light only made him shudder as a reminder of all that he had lost because of it. After Elwing married Earendil and before she left the Sindarin settlement, Oropher had given Elwing several items as her parents’ legacy to her. Among them was Nauglamir with the silmaril.

Elwing took the famed Dwarven necklace and clasped it around her neck and put a cloak over her shoulders and neck to hide it.

“I had not thought they would strike so readily and so soon,” Elwing said.

Thranduil frowned.

“You knew they were coming?”

“Of course not. They asked for the stone, but I did not think they were willing to kill their own people for it. These are Earendil’s people; they are the same Noldor…”

Thranduil grabbed Elwing’s arm and swung her around, stopping her from speaking. Heat infused his head, and something hot lodged in his throat, choking him.

“You knew? They asked for the jewel before they came? Why didn’t you just give it to them? Have you not learned anything from what they did to Doriath?”

“I will never give this to them!” Elwing grabbed at the jewel at her neck, her starlit gray eyes suddenly flaming with anger. “They killed my parents, my brothers…”

“And, they will kill more because you are holding onto it!” Thranduil’s voice rose. “What does it matter. It is just a rock! Is it really worth risking your life? Their lives?” Thranduil pointed to the twins.

“It isn’t just a rock, Thranduil. It is the legacy of my grandparents, one that they paid a dear price, the one my parents died to protect.”

“Died and lost a kingdom for,” Thranduil said. “How much more people have to die for it?”

Elwing glared at Thranduil with defiance.

“Don’t forget, Thranduil, your grandfather and brother died for it, too.”

“No, Elwing. They died not to protect the jewel but to protect your parents and brothers. To protect you.”

“I am not giving it up, Thranduil.”

Elwing held up her chin high, looking every bit a queen. Briefly, Thranduil thought Elwing looked just like her father. She was more like King Dior with his dark hair and regal air than were her brothers whose dark hair had a gleam of their mother’s silver hair and her gentle temperament.

Thranduil’s blue-green eyes clashed with Elwing’s evening gray eyes. Thranduil knew how stubborn Elwing could be. The sound of metal clashing became louder. Thranduil sighed. He never could win against her.

“So be it,” he said finally. “We have to go.”

“One more thing,” Elwing scooped down to take something out of a chest at the foot of her bed. It was something long and wrapped in silk fabric. When Elwing took it out, he saw that it was a sword. There was a winged moon carved in the front of the scabbard artfully wrought with a large moonstone and silver.

“Aranruth,” Thranduil whispered.

“Your father gave it to me the day the twins were born,” Elwing said. “He said it was the king’s sword and it should be given to Elros when he was old enough.”

“Yes. It belonged to Lord Elu Thingol. Later, Lord Dior had it. Here, I’ll carry it for you,” Thranduil said and took the sword from Elwing and strapped it to his back.

When they opened the chamber door, the two guards turned.

“My lady, you must stay here. Lord Egalmoth…”

“Lord Egalmoth was supposed to be here a while ago. I am not going to stay and risk the lives of my sons,” Elwing said to the guards. “You can either come with us or stay and wait for your captain.”

The two guards hesitated but only a moment. They nodded. With their swordstaffs out, they led the way. Elwing picked up one of the boys and Thranduil picked up the other and followed the guards down the stairs.

The hallway and the main foyer of the building were now empty. Everything was so quiet that Thranduil felt he could hear his own heart thrumming. He felt the tightening of small arms around his neck and looked down at the frightened gray eyes of the twin in his arms.

“We’ll be all right,” Thranduil whispered. Bright gray eyes filling his face, the child nodded.

“I know,” he said.

The reply was calm and serene belying the fear in the child’s eyes, looking so much older than his six years of age.

 _This one must be Elrond_ , Thranduil thought as he looked around the corner for any shadows as he followed close behind the guards.

Everything was quiet until the party reached the main door of the mansion when the shouts erupted just outside. The door suddenly sprang open, and several red armored Elves rushed in. The two guards immediately blocked the entry trying to stop the red armored Elves who clamored to enter.

“Go back!” Nestadion shouted to Elwing and Thranduil before he turned back to fight the intruding warriors.

“This way!” Elwing pulled at Thranduil. They ran with the two nurses following close behind. Thranduil handed Elrond to a nurse and turned to the two Gondolin guards when he saw that the two guards were overwhelmed. He pulled out his bow and let several of his arrows fly. Someone pulled at his elbow. It was one of the nurses, the one with a bow.

“Take my lady and the children. Go on. I will try to stop as many as I can,” she said as she threaded her bow with arrows, sending an arrow to strike down one of the red armored warriors who passed the two Gondolin guards too engaged to stop him.

“Lothiel, no,” Elwing stopped and grabbed the nurse’s arm, but the nurse pushed Elwing away.

“Hurry, my lady. Think of the boys.”

Elwing hesitated, but the sound of soldiers breaking into the mansion was evident behind them.

“Come on, Elwing. There’s no time.” Thranduil pushed Elwing forward. He turned to the nurse as she placed herself behind a large pillar.

“Thank you,” Thranduil said.

The nurse smiled faintly. “Keep them safe.”

Turning, they ran downstairs to a lower hallway through which Thranduil entered. The door faced a terrace next to a cliff. Before opening the door, Thranduil stopped and looked out of the arched two-story window that faced the terrace where they were heading. Then as quickly, he ducked, motioning for the rest to do the same.

Just outside the door, a battle was raging. The golden armored warriors were trying their best to prevent the Feanorian soldiers from entering the main building, but there were too many of them. On the outer edge were the silver armored warriors, but Thranduil noticed that there were as more gold and silver armors on the ground as there were those standing.

They were losing this battle.

 


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Elros and Elrond, Thranduil and Elwing try to escape when they come face to face with Feanorian warriors

The door next to them were the closest to the terrace and to the cliff, but there were too many soldiers outside.

Just then, the window by the stairs shattered as an arrow blazing with fire flew in and ignited blue silk curtains. The flames instantly engulfed the drapery.

“We have to go around. There are far too many Feanorians outside,” Thranduil whispered to Elwing who was behind him. He fitted an arrow to his bow.    

They went down the hall to the right. The side entrance there led to a dense forest above a cliff. A path existed there, but it was farther away from the dock area than Thranduil had in mind. But, for now, it would have to do.

Just as they got out of the building, however, there was a shout. Thranduil ducked behind several large decorative vases built into the area which formed a small garden facing the sea, gesturing others to do the same.

By the gate that separated the stone steps of the garden to the main courtyard, three golden armored Elves were engaged with five red armored Feanorian soldiers.

The garden at the very top where Thranduil and Elwing hid were accessible only through steep stone stairs built into the incline which meandered through a rocky cliff. Midway down the stairs, another series of steps curved left which led to the terrace behind the manor house. Thranduil looked down at the stairs in front of him which led directly to the courtyard below. If Lord Cirdan’s aid did not come soon, all was lost.

“Move now!” Thranduil hissed and pushed her forward to run across the top of the stairs to the other side. The nurse followed. Just as Thranduil followed them behind, one of the five red armored warriors looked up.           

Thranduil gritted his teeth as two of the five broke off from engaging the Gondolin guards and ran up the stairs toward them.

Thranduil cursed aloud and released an arrow. The first of the two tumbled down the stairs. The remaining warrior ducked behind a large rock by the stairs. The Noldo shouted something back to the three soldiers who just finished killing the three Gondolin guards. And, now the three red armored warriors looked up at where Thranduil stood on the top.

The three made a move to follow the other red-armored warrior up the stairs. Thranduil fired another arrow. The three ducked behind the rocks strewn on the side of the stone steps. But, as Thranduil nocked another arrow, they moved up, slowly but surely up the stairs.

The first one who hid behind a rock ran up the steps. Thranduil nocked and shoot, but the warrior rolled one way then the other, precariously avoiding Thranduil’s arrows.

Thranduil let fly another arrow, but the warrior struck it down with his sword. He was no ordinary soldier. And while Thranduil concentrated on him, others moved up.

“Cursed creatures of Morgoth!” Thranduil cursed out aloud as he began to shoot arrow after arrow, both to the one on top and the three following. The warrior ran up, then behind a large stone column. In the meantime, the other three were running up the stairs. Thranduil let fly arrows to the other three, then to the one below him, one after another.

“You can keep shooting at us, but you probably do not have much more arrows left,” the voice behind the stone column jeered in Quenya.

“Thranduil,” Elwing’s soft voice called him from behind.

“Not now, Elwing,” Thranduil snapped, nocking another arrow, his eyes trained on the stone column where the Noldorin warrior hid.

“Please protect my babies. Keep them safe,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.

“What?” Thranduil turned around as Elwing stood up from bending over her boys. “What did you just say?”

Elwing looked at him with eyes full of sorrow, then she walked out onto the top of the stairs where she can be seen by the Noldorin warriors.

“What are you doing?” Thranduil hissed.

Thranduil got up from where he was hiding as Elwing pulled back her cloak revealing the necklace. The hallowed jewel glowed like the sun around her neck.

Then, before Thranduil could stop her, she ran opposite direction to the cliff where they were heading, a path that led to the terrace behind the building.

“No, Elwing!” Thranduil tried to follow her, but suddenly arrows flew towards him. Thranduil dived behind a large boulder where the nurse huddled with the twins.

“Leave them!”

Thranduil heard the one who jeered at him call to the others. “She has the jewel. Follow her!”

Thranduil looked out and saw that instead of coming up the stairs straight up where he was with the twins, the Noldorin soldiers were going up the other stairs that led to the terrace, following after Elwing.

Thranduil nocked another arrow and aimed at the one closest to him, one of the two warriors who carried a bow. One archer fell over, an arrow through both his legs. But, when Thranduil turned to the other three, they were already up toward the terrace and beyond his reach.

Thranduil got up to run after Elwing but stopped at a tug on his outfit. One of the boys was holding onto the end of his tunic.

“What’s going to happen to nana?” he asked.

Thranduil swallowed a lump in his throat. Image of another set of twins flashed across his memory, the ones with a silver sheen on their dark hair, the two young princes they had left behind in Doriath. Their wailing as they were dragged away had been forever etched into his memory.

“Come, I must first hide you two,” Thranduil said. He was not going to let Elwing down and let harm come to these two. Thranduil fought the dread that ran through him. He picked one of them up and ran to a cave he remembered that was near the cliffside.

When he was near it, he turned to the nurse. “Wasn’t there a cave here somewhere?”

He had played hide and seek there with the twins not that long ago while his mother talked with Elwing.                            

Earendil had often left Elwing alone, and Thranduil’s mother rarely mingled with other Elves, especially Noldor. But, when Earendil was away, she found time to visit Elwing and the twins.

The nurse pointed to a large boulder over which a stream of water ran down. The thin stream was one of the many that fell over the cliff onto the sea.  

He took the twins and walked toward the waterfall. The boulder fell away and just beneath the waterfall was a cave. The rocky floor of the cave was wet but half of the cave was bright as sunlight fell inside from the cracked ceiling above. Somehow it had looked bigger the last time he was here, but then, both he and the twins were smaller then. He turned to the nurse.

“Stay quiet and do not come out. I will return as soon as I can when it is safe.”

One of the twins pulled at his tunic and Thranduil turned to face him.

“Are you going to get nana?”

“Yes. I am going to go get your mother. And, I will be back for you.”

“You promise?” the other asked.

“Yes.” Thranduil knew as he said the word, that he shouldn’t make a promise. He wasn’t sure if he could bring Elwing back, or even whether they could survive this, but he couldn’t tell them that.                                      

Thranduil clenched his teeth and fisted his hands. He shall come back for them. He shall not leave them, not the way they had and lost another twin princes as they had back in Menegroth.

“I will come back for you,” Thranduil promised. Then, he unstrapped the sword on his back.

“Elros?”

One of the twins looked up at him, his big gray eyes filling his tender face. Thranduil handed the sword and pressed it into the little one’s small hands.

“This was your grandfather’s sword. A king’s sword. This is your sword now, Elros. You keep it safe, understand? Don’t let anyone take this from you.”

The child nodded, his lips firm, too grave for a child of six years of age.

Once he left Elwing’s children, Thranduil ran to where he last saw Elwing headed.

His throat thickened as his heart drummed. Fear ran through him like a fever all through his body like the time he almost died after fleeing the burning Menegroth.

After Doriath, Elwing had been a sister to him, a sister to replace the brother he had lost. No, not replace. Nothing could replace his lost brother, but she was close to it. He wasn’t going to lose another of his loved ones without a fight. Even if it killed him.

As he ran, he felt his back for the arrows. There were not many left. Six or so at the most. Although he had been learning to wield a sword for the past decade, he didn’t feel confident with a sword yet. His mother was so against him becoming a warrior, his father had been unwilling for Thranduil to devote all of his time to the weapons training. But with a bow which he had been training since he reached his majority, Thranduil felt he could do anything.

There were three of Feanorian warriors. If he could get them before they were even aware, maybe there was a chance.


	6. SIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil confronts the three Feanorian warriors

**White Tower of Arvernien,  May 25, First Age 538**

< **9:32 AM** >Once he reached a wide-open stone terrace built over a cliff, Thranduil stopped and hid behind a tall granite statue erected at its boundary. The flowering bushes that surrounded the statue gave Thranduil an ample coverage but he scooted down low when he saw one of the three red armored soldiers walking back toward the middle of the terrace. The Noldorin soldier had been looking around large vases at the far end of the terrace where stone stairs led to a white tower built on the edge of the cliff. The tower was Elwing’s favorite place to watch for a ship that may carry her husband back home.

Thranduil aimed his arrow at the Noldorin warrior when another soldier in the red armor came out of the mansion that stood on the far right of the terrace. He walked over to the warrior in the middle of the terrace.

“She’s not in there. Search all around,” the second soldier said and took off his golden helmet to run his hand through the hair before putting the helmet back on. Thranduil was surprised by the russet color of the Elf’s hair, the color the young Sinda had never seen among any Elves. Besides the unusual hair color, this Elf’s red armor was gilded in gold with designs of rays of the sun around the edges.

Thranduil grabbed another arrow when a third warrior with a bow strung and ready in his hand came around from the back of the mansion to join the other two. 

“I don’t see her, Minyarussa. Are you sure she came this way?” the Noldorin warrior said in Quenya although it sounded slightly different than the way Thranduil’s mother had taught it to him.

“I’m sure!” The redhead frowned.

Noiselessly, Thranduil took out the third arrow. He lined the three arrows over his bow, then nocking one to the string, aimed it at the Noldorin archer. Once their archer is disposed of, Thranduil will have time to shoot the other two who only had swords. Thranduil silently planned the moves and calculated the distance, then he pulled back the string of his bow.

As the string became taut, Thranduil felt a chill run down his spine. He took in a breath, then let the tension of his bowstring settle.

No matter how much he wanted to deny it, Thranduil knew he had no chance if he was to face the three highly trained Elven warriors alone. His best chance was to shoot them down as quickly as he could before any of them could reach him. And at this distance, with nothing near for the three warriors to hide behind, Thranduil knew he could kill them, if not all, at least two before he will have to face the last of them.

But how can he kill another Elf? All Elves are kin, no matter how distantly related.

And the three Noldor standing on the terrace were so close, he could see the gray color of their eyes. Thranduil swallowed hard.

A tremor passed through him, shaking his very core. He had killed orcs and goblins, and he had hunted for food, but he had never killed another Elf before. Despite all the hatred he felt for the Noldor, everything he believed in cried out against committing the deadliest of sins. He lowered his bow.

Then, Thranduil’s thoughts strayed to Menegroth. These Elves were the ones who had killed his brother; killed his grandfather; killed Aron’s mother and the gentle queen. They were the same people who destroyed the home he loved. Hardening himself, Thranduil picked up the bow again. Elwing’s life may depend on him killing them.

With trembling hands, Thranduil held up his bow and aimed it at the Noldorin archer as the Noldo stood next to the redhead. Thranduil took in a big breath to still the tremor that went through him. His heart pulsed rapid and furious as if it will jump out of his chest. The young Sinda glanced at the Noldorin warriors, afraid that they could hear it.

The threaded arrow in front of him shook. Stilling his breath, Thranduil stepped back to steady himself before pulling back on the string when something crunched under his feet.

The redhead turned and looked directly at where Thranduil hid.

“Come out! I know you are there. Are you an Elf or a filth of the Dark Lord who hides in the darkness and skulks like a coward?” the redhead shouted.

Thranduil knew better than to abandon his bow, but his blood boiled and anger darkened his heart and mind.

He stepped forward into the opening, then threw down his bow and the arrows on the ground. He took out his long knife which was strapped to his belt along with his dagger.

The redhead laughed when he saw Thranduil with his long knife drawn.

“A child?”

“I’m not a child!” Thranduil spat. “You want a fight, then fight, Noldo.”

A corner of redhead’s lips went up.

“You are no match for me, elfling,” the redhead said, holding up his head high to look down at Thranduil. The redhead looked very tall against Thranduil’s slight and lithe frame. Although Thranduil was 70 years old, he was smaller than most other Elves at that age.

“You think because you are a Noldo that you are superior to everybody,” Thranduil rushed in, swinging his long knife, going for an opening on the redhead’s right.

The redheaded Noldo barely moved but slid past Thranduil’s thrust as if it was a mere play.

“We are superior. I’m guessing you are not one of our kin from Gondolin?”

“I rather be an Orc than be one of you, you kinslayer!” Thranduil huffed having made several swings and thrusts but not having made even the barest contact.

“Then, you are one of the Elves from Doriath? How is it you speak Quenya?” the redhead frowned, taking another step to avoid Thranduil’s advance.

“You murderer. Your kind killed my family, the people I loved, destroyed my home.” Thranduil swung with all his strength using all that he had learned but none of his swings touched the redhead who with deft movements avoided them.

“I have lost family, too, at Doriath,” the Noldo growled, then took a swing, easily blocking Thranduil’s labored thrusts.

“Every one of your kin deserves death.” Thranduil grounded his teeth.

The redhead’s eyes flashed, then with a roar, the Noldo slashed twice at Thranduil’s arm. The long knife in Thranduil’s hand clattered to the ground. Thranduil gritted his teeth, but could not prevent a groan from escaping as he grabbed at the two gaping wounds on his arm as the red blood seeped through his fingers. The redhead, with surprising speed, stepped forward and grabbed Thranduil’s neck, picking him up off the ground.

“What do you know of death, elfling!” The redhead bared his teeth, his lips curled back. The bright light of his eyes seemed to glow like a firelight.

The steel gauntlet on the Noldo’s hand dug into Thranduil’s bare neck. Thranduil gagged, breath cut off him. He tried to pry off the steel covered fingers, but try as he might, the redhead did not loosen his grip.

“Minyarussa, please,” one of the two red-armored warriors, the one with the bow, pleaded. “He is but a child. Let him go. He is no threat to us.”

It was then a horn rang out surrounding them with a long deep note, then tooted twice.

The three red armored warriors stopped and the redhead loosened his hold on Thranduil, enough for the young Sinda to take a breath.

“It’s your brother’s horn. He is calling all the warriors to retreat,” the one who had intervened looked up at the redhead.

“I am not done yet, Astarno. She has the Silmaril. We are not done until we find her,” the redhead said as he turned back to Thranduil, then picking Thranduil up off his feet, the redhead shook the young Sinda.

“Where is she?”

Thranduil struggled as the steel fingers dug again into his throat cutting off blood and breath.

Stop!” A shrill voice rang out. The three warriors turned. “Let him go or I’ll drop this in the depth of the ocean where none of you can ever find it!”

At the base of the stone stairs that led up to the white tower, Elwing stood, tall and majestic.

The jewel glowed white on her neck as she held the edges of the bejeweled necklace towards them.

The redhead growled, then hurled Thranduil onto the ground.

Then without a second thought to the young Sinda, the redhead turned to move toward Elwing.

Thranduil did not think. He grabbed the Noldo’s legs and held onto them with all his might.

“Run, Elwing, run!” Thranduil shouted in Sindarin.

The redhead’s steel gauntlet came crashing down on Thranduil’s head, once, then twice, but Thranduil hung onto him harder as something thick flowed down his forehead and stung his eyes.

“Get off me!”

The redhead picked up Thranduil bodily and hurled the young Sinda onto the ground, smashing him on the side of his wounded arm.

The pain on his bleeding arm and the side where he hit the ground exploded as if pummeled with an ax, but Thranduil bit hard onto his back teeth, refusing to cry out.

Trembling from pain, Thranduil got up and when the redhead walked near him to pass him, he sprang onto the redhead’s leg once more.

“You are not going anywhere!” Thranduil screamed.

The redhead’s other foot came crashing down on Thranduil’s side. Pain blasted through his body and Thranduil groaned and rolled over, unable to hold on.

Thranduil tried to lift his head, but a cold steel clad foot held Thranduil’s head down on the dirt.

“If I were you, elfling, I’ll stay down,” the redhead growled. Then, he turned to the other two warriors.

“Astarno, shoot down the woman and Thornandur, you take this elfling,” the redhead took off his foot from Thranduil’s head and turned.

“Minyarussa…” the one called Astarno protested.

“Now! Stop her.” The redhead commanded.

Ignoring the throbs of pain wrecking his body, Thranduil threw himself onto Astarno who was threading an arrow onto his bowstring, shouting aloud in Sindarin.

“Run, Elwing! Run!”

Thranduil shouted at the top of his lung as he jumped onto the Noldorin archer who tumbled over onto his back. The other Noldorin warrior reached over then threw Thranduil onto the ground. The Noldo helped the archer get up, then drew his sword looming over Thranduil.

It was then an arrow pierced the warrior’s hand making him drop his sword. The Noldo groaned. Thranduil saw the Noldorin archer move, but the Noldo was not swift enough. Before he could even pick up his bow, another arrow struck him on his head, throwing him down onto the ground.

Everyone turned toward where the arrows came.

A warrior in a blue and silver scaled armor stepped forward into the clearing with his great bow drawn, another arrow nocked. He aimed it at the redhead.

 


	7. Seven

**White Tower of Arvernien,  May 25, First Age 538**

**<** 9:53AM **>**   “ **CAPTAIN HIMION**!” the blond youth called out once he sat up.

“Thranduil! Get behind me. Now!” Himion shouted to the youth, keeping his eyes trained on the redheaded Noldo. He wanted to avoid any fatality, but even if he had to shed the red blood of kin to save this child, he would.

From the corner of his eye, Himion saw the Noldorin warrior move. The Sindarin captain turned, but already, the Noldo stood in front of him blocking the redhead from the tip of his bow.  The Noldorin warrior picked up his hand shot through with an arrow. The Noldo broke the shaft and pulled out the arrow from his hand. All the while the Noldo’s gray eyes never left Himion. The Sindarin captain pulled the string of his bow taut. Part of his heart sympathized with the Noldorin warrior in front of him, but just as the Noldo wanted to protect his charge, Himion, too, had a duty.

“Please, Captain Himion.” A gentle hand pushed the bow downward, ever so carefully. Despite the warning blaring in his head, Himion lowered his weapon as Lady Arinariel stepped forward. 

But as soon as Himion did so, the redhead aimed his sword at Thranduil neck as the blond youth tried to get up off the ground.

“One move, Dark Elf, and this child dies,” the redhead said in a hesitant Sindarin.

Himion picked up his bow and aimed it at the Noldorin warrior who stood to shield the redhead when Lady Arinariel rushed out before Himion could stop her.

“No! Please, don’t hurt him,” the lady knelt next to Thranduil and drew the youth into her arms, placing herself between Thranduil and the redhead’s blade.   

Thranduil, with his eyes wide, pulled at the woman.

“Mother? What are you doing here?” Thranduil asked, wiping the blood that dripped down to his eyes.

Lady Arinariel pulled off the deep hood of her healer’s gray garment.

A hair of rarest gold glittering under the sunlight poured out from the gray hood brightening her entire person. Pure light glowed about her, making her shine like a jewel under sunlight, too bright to look upon. Even among the Elven kind, she was fair beyond measure with the same unusual colored eyes that Thranduil has. Himion had never seen Lady Arinariel without her hood. It was the first time he had beheld her face entirely.

“Please. He is my son. Still a child. Will you not spare him, son of Feanaro?,” the lady said in a dialect that Himion had heard spoken only among the people from Nargothrond when they thought no one was listening.

The lady laid her white hand on the blade of the sword and pushed away its cruel tip with her gentle hand.

The redhead’s gray eyes widened as he took a step back. Then, he frowned at the blonde lady in front of him who wiped away the blood flowing into Thranduil’s eyes.

“You! But, how?” the redhead looked lost as he looked at Thranduil’s mother, then at Thranduil.  The redhead shook his head speaking in the same dialect that the lady used. It was then that the Noldo looked up.

Himion looked up also and saw that Elwing had almost reached the top of the tower.

“Astarno,” the redhead said too fast for Himion to catch in that strange dialect of theirs to the Noldorin archer who had gotten up. The archer stood, his bow trained onto Himion. His left cheek had a deep cut and was bleeding.

Whatever the redhead said, it troubled Lady Arinariel. She turned to the redhead, grabbed the Noldorin warrior’s steel-clad hand.

Himion did not catch what the lady said, but he could guess. It was then that Thranduil turned to him and called out in Sindarin.

“Himion, roll right! The other archer is going to shoot Elwing!”

Himion rolled to his right, barely missing the dagger that flew towards him. As soon as the roll was complete, the captain released his arrow. Himion’s arrow struck the archer’s hand. The bow fell, but the arrow had already left the bow.

Everyone turned to the top of the stone stairs where Elwing had been. She was nowhere to be seen. Something hot rose up from Himion’s stomach. He had sworn to protect the royal family. Lady Elwing was the only child of King Dior who survived the attack at Menegroth. The captain ground his teeth.

As Himion turned back to face the redhead, the Noldorin warrior who had thrown him the dagger roared and rushed forward with his sword high in the air.

There was not enough time, but the Sindarin captain blocked the Noldorin warrior’s sword with his bow. Himion dodged the first strike, but the next strike sliced the bow in half. The captain watched with shock the bow his father had made for him break into two, and before Himion could recover, the Noldo kicked Himion in the stomach. The pain almost robbed him of air, and Himion stumbled backward.

The Noldo raised up his sword for the final kill when he turned his sword aside to swipe at something that flew at him. Reaching for his long daggers as he straightened, Himion flipped back to avoid a swipe, then ran his daggers once then twice through the length of the Noldorin warrior.

Himion did not wait to see the Noldo fall but turned back toward Thranduil. It was then that the redhead backhanded Thranduil so hard that the young Sinda was thrown back and hit the ground.

“Please, don’t do this!” the lady grabbed the hand that struck her son, but raising his hand holding the sword, the redhead whacked the lady, the force throwing her down onto the stone paved floor.

“My lady!”

Himion ground his teeth. Grasping his long daggers, Himion sprinted toward the redhead when the captain saw Thranduil got up and grab a long dagger on the ground. With a shout, Thranduil rushed at the redhead.  

And everything happened at once.

“No, Thranduil!” Himion cried out when he heard a wind whistle and saw arrow leaving the archer’s bow. It was headed directly toward Thranduil. Himion did not think and thrust his body to block the arrow’s path to the child. He could not save the last of Dior’s child. At least, he could save Oropher’s.

“Oof!” The pain and the force propelled the captain back, and he fell to the ground just a few steps shy of reaching Thranduil. Searing pain ripped through the muscle of his left shoulder.

Grabbing at his injury, Himion looked up and watched in horror as Lady Arinariel got up and pulled Thranduil’s arm as the youth swung his long dagger.

The action jerked Thranduil’s aim, and the young Sinda’s dagger missed the redhead who swung his own sword.

“No!” Himion rushed towards Thranduil, but he was still two strides away when Lady Arinariel threw herself between the redhead’s sword and Thranduil, pulling Thranduil into her embrace, her back towards the thrust of the Noldo’s sword.

The blade shone in the sun as it struck the gray garment. The lady gasped and let go of Thranduil as her golden head fell backward and she fell like a petal in the wind, a spark of starlight in the darkness of a midnight storm.

Something hot grabbed hold of Himion as a roar escaped his lips. Picking up his daggers, Himion plunged the long knife deep into the redhead. It was more out of the need to protect than anything else. Once the blade sank into the body, the terrible impact of what he had done hit Himion as he watched the wide open gray eyes of the redhead. They were filled with shock, but those gray eyes were not looking at him, but at the body of Lady Arinariel by the Noldo's feet.

Himion pulled out his sword and the redhead crumbled into a heap next to the white light that was Lady Arinariel as she faded like a dusk into a night.

The old Sindarin captain looked down at the two fallen figures, one red and the other golden. The same red blood that stained the lady’s gray garment began to stain the red and gold armor of the redhaired Noldo.  And that same red blood dripped from the tip of the Sindarin captain’s sword.

Himion felt whatever remained of strength leave him. His chest filled with sorrow at the senselessness of it all.

Why were they killing each other? What has brought this terrible tragedy?

Himion stumbled back, his legs no longer strong and steady, no longer the pillar that supported him. His chest heaved as immense sorrow filled it. The swords slipped from his hands but Himion did not care. His eyes were drawn to the two fallen figures before him, so different, yet so alike.

Why did this have to happen?

“Naneth! Nana!” Thranduil’s anguished scream filled the small courtyard as the youth grabbed his mother. Her blood stained Thranduil’s hands and garments red as the youth shook his mother’s silent body.

Himion looked up to see an arrow trained on him. The remaining Noldorin warrior had threaded his bow, and it was aimed directly at the Sindarin captain. Himion stood up.

“I’ll kill you!” Thranduil screamed and sprang up from beside the body of his mother.

The youth picked up his fallen long dagger and moved toward the Noldorin warrior. Astarno moved the bow toward Thranduil, but before he could release the arrow, Himion moved.

The captain snatched the dagger away and with a swift kick to the back of Thranduil’s legs threw the young lad onto the ground. Then, Himion blocked Thranduil’s fallen body with his and faced Noldorin archer.

“I am the one who killed your companions. Kill me, but leave the boy. He has already lost so much,” Himion said, his gray eyes looking into the gray eyes of the Noldorin warrior.

The Noldo pulled the bowstring taut as Himion stood facing him. Instead of anger and grief, or even the fear of death, Himion felt relieved. If he died now, he wouldn’t have to face Oropher. He rather that he didn’t have to tell Oropher about the death of his wife. Himion wasn’t sure if Oropher would be able to bear it after so much loss.

When the thought struck him, Himion frowned. How could he think about himself in a situation like this? Would Oropher survive the death of his wife? Himion had barely survived the loss of his own wife. But, then, he had no children. And, Oropher had Thranduil. If Thranduil could be saved, then Himion was sure that Oropher will survive this tragedy. If not for himself, then for his young son.

The Noldorin warrior stared down at the Sindarin captain, then looked down at Thranduil who struggled to sit up. Thranduil was bleeding from his head and his left arm. His pale skin looked stark under the red of the blood stain and the black bruises that were everywhere.

“The boy’s mother is dead. Do not take any more from him. Let him go, please,” Himion said. “The child’s father has already lost one son at Menegroth along with his own father. This child has not done anything except to try to defend those he loves. He is innocent.”

What Himion said must have reached the Noldorin warrior. The Noldo’s stance faltered.  

Instead of letting the arrow fly, Astarno let go of the tension in his bow and let the weapon drop to his side. The Sindarin captain regarded the Noldorin warrior. The Noldo’s eyes were filled with the same gut-wrenching sorrow he felt. 

As they regarded each other silently, a white bird with bright starlight on its long white throat circled their heads and let out a long single cry. Both warriors looked up at the bird as it circled over their heads. As they watched, it flew toward the West when a deep horn rang out from the ocean.

“Lord Cirdan’s ships are here,” Himion said to no one particular as he watched the Noldorin warrior crouch down to wrap the fallen body of the redhead in his cloak.

Thranduil finally sat up, groaning softly. When his eyes beheld the Noldorin warrior picking up the dead body of the redhead, Thranduil’s face turned red, contorting hideously.

“Murderer!” Thranduil got up again, then looked around for a weapon. Himion wrapped his arms around the young Sinda and held him firmly.

“Let him go, Thranduil. He is not the one who killed your mother.”

“He’s a Noldo. All Noldor are murderers!” Thranduil screamed.

Himion turned to the Noldorin warrior.

“Take your dead and go quickly. There has been enough blood shed this day.”

It didn’t take the Noldo another word as he hoisted up the body of the redhead and without another glance, sprinted away.

“No!” screamed Thranduil as he bucked within the captain’s arm. “I’ll kill you, you Morgoth’s filth!” Curses poured out of Thranduil’s mouth as he fought to pry open Himion’s arms that held him captive in an iron clasp.

“Kill him, Himion. Kill him! Don’t let him get away!”

The elder Sinda turned Thranduil to face him, then shook the youth roughly.

“Listen to me, Thranduil. Think of your mother. Would your lady mother want more blood? Would she want you to taint your hands with the blood of your kin? Don’t you understand that she wanted to protect you from this bloodshed, protect you from being stained with blood?”

Thranduil’s bloody face streaked with tears crumpled.

When Himion let him go, Thranduil fell to his knees.

“I hate them! I hate them all!” Thranduil’s anguished scream mingled with another sound of a horn from the sea.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil buries his mother and is faced with a choice

**Plains** **of Sirion. May 28, First Age 538**

  **THRANDUIL** looked up at the sky. The sun slunk beyond the mountains leaving a bloody trail. It was not until the daylight faded away that the sky cleared into a deep blue of the night sea. High above Thranduil’s head, the first evening star shone.

_How could a star be so bright when everything had gone so wrong? How cruel the Valar are._

The Song of Parting surged, mournful melodies on a cloudless night. It wove grief and sorrow, tapestries of heartaches, losses and immeasurable pain. A sigh here and drops of tears there. Thranduil struggled to tamp down the fire that burned within the depth of his stomach.

The bodies of those slain at the battle just three days ago were laid out, an uncounted number of row after row, on the grassy plains next to where Thranduil had spent his youth after escaping the burning Menegroth.

So many had fallen.

There were so many graves that it looked as if the whole of the plain was covered with the freshly upturned dirt. At the head of the fallen warriors was a small altar where his mother lay.

Thranduil, bandages on his head and chest, his arm in a sling, stood stock still as they finished the Song of Parting. Now, everyone will be placing the stones that will bury his mother. His father who stood next to him was silent and still as if carved in stone.

Thranduil looked down at his mother who lay on the intricately carved wooden platform. Her usually hidden face and head were fully uncovered, and you could see her translucent skin, her angular face and the brilliant gold hair that glittered in the lights of the candles held by those gathered. Even in death, she was breathtaking.

They covered her head with white silk, wrapping her entire head, then the body. What lay there was only an empty hröa, the body, which will become one with the earth. Soon, they were placing the stones on the mound where her body lay. 

They were taking away his light that had guided him through the shadows that lay lurking. If Elwing had been his moon, his mother had been his sun. And now, both were gone. The shadows that had lain hidden lifted their dark heads and closed around the blond Sinda.

Thranduil wondered what his father was feeling, for he did not feel. No tears came and no anger. Not even grief.

His mind was numb. Empty. And in this empty mind, the shadows circled closer. Thranduil did not struggle. The winter that always nipped just around the corner, just a step, behind the moonlit spring and sunlit summers came at him full force.   

As the freezing winter wind took hold of his heart, Thranduil’s stomach churned. Thranduil felt bile rise and choke his throat. A branch of thorns raked over the tender places. Thranduil gritted his teeth letting out a rough breath, feeling suffocated as if the entire woods closed in around him.

When the turmoil in his stomach rose and became unbearable. Thranduil turned and walked away, allowing his feet to carry him wherever. He heard someone call his name, but he didn’t bother to turn. It was only later that he realized he was running. He ran through the woods and back towards the sea.

When he got to a cliff overlooking the sea, he gulped in the salty air. His chest burned as if there was burning coal in its midst. How could he feel so much heat in such freezing winter? Nothing made sense.

Thranduil wished he had wings, then he could just fly away from here and leave these shores.

His chest tightened hard, blocking breath. He clenched his teeth, then grabbed at his chest, his breath came out short and fast.

Thranduil ripped the bandage around his head and the sling that held his left arm off his shoulder and threw them down the cliff. But, the feeling of suffocation didn’t leave him. The young Sinda opened up his jacket and ripped out the cotton bandages around his chest and then at his arm. Pain, sharp and biting, seared through his injured arm and the chest. Thranduil winced, holding onto his left arm that throbbed as if it had a heart embedded in its veins.

“You shouldn’t have done that. It would slow the healing,” a quiet voice reached him, and Thranduil turned. Himion stood there by the white birch tree.

“Father sent you?”

“It is my job to make sure you are safe.”

“You are no longer the captain of the Royal Guards. And I am not your charge,” Thranduil snapped. “All of them, the last line of the kings, are dead. I killed them.”

“Thranduil…”

“Instead of pestering me, shouldn’t you be looking for the sons of Feanor and their band of killers?”

The elder Elf sighed.

“The Council decided not to pursue them.”

Thranduil whirled around, sudden heat churning his stomach. His mind which had been numb burst into fire.

“Not to pursue? Are they mad? Maedhros has the twins!”

“Lord Cirdan, as well as your father and the council, have decided that the twins are best left to Maedhros’ care. We have assurance from them that they will not harm the boys.”

“What is this? How come I didn’t know about this decision? How could they even trust the words of Feanor’s sons after what they have done?”

“The decision was made while you were in the infirmary.”

“And, my father agreed? How could he? After what they did?”

“I know it is hard for you to see it now, but it was a wise decision.”

“Wise? How is it wise? How could father allow this? They attacked Elwing! They killed my mother! They took the twins!” Thranduil glared at Himion as if the elder Sinda had turned into the enemy.

“If we retaliate, there can only be more blood, Thranduil. They are as diminished as we. They lost people as much as we did…”

“They lost warriors! We lost warriors and civilians, women and children…” Thranduil’s voice caught unable to say more. His throat hurt so much it felt as if it would rip apart.

“That is the nature of war, Thranduil. Blood will be spilled. If we retaliate, there will be more loss. This time, their women and children. You don’t want that.”

“What do you know what I want? I want my mother back! I want Elwing back! I want…,” Thranduil took in a breath, biting down on his back teeth. The fire that burned in his stomach suddenly chilled. In a voice that could freeze ocean, Thranduil hissed. “It is easy for you because it was not your mother. How could father condone this? How could he just let all those death be for nothing!”

“You forget to whom you speak, young one. Death is never for nothing. And, you are not the only one who lost a loved one.”

“But, how could my father not want to…Losing mother meant nothing to him?”

“Don’t say that, child. You do not know what you say. Just because your father does not show it, do not think he does not grieve, that he does not suffer.”

Himion sighed and looked away at the water below them.

“You do not know what it is to lose a mate. Children are your heart, but your mate is part of your soul. Losing a mate, it is more than just a loss of connection. It is like having your soul ripped apart. It is an emptiness that can never be filled until you are united again. For your father, that void is deeper and bigger. He has lost his parents, his first-born son and now his wife.” Himion’s eyes glinted with moisture. “Do you know what happens when your soul is torn apart and part of it ripped away? Most of us cannot handle the depth of grief such damage imposes. Why do you think so many of us who lost our loved ones fade away? Have you forgotten how you almost died?”

Thranduil looked down at his feet.

“Maybe it would have been better if I had died that day,” Thranduil said. “I do nothing but cause grief to others. Why was I even born?” Thranduil pulled at his hair. “It would have been better for everyone if I had never been born.”

Himion reached out and laid a hand on Thranduil’s shoulder.

“Do not think so little of your life, young one. We are all here on Earth because we are meant to be here. Your lady mother would have been lost to grief if it hadn’t been for you. It was only her fear of losing you, too, that kept her grounded. And, your father lives today because you were spared. I do not doubt that as strong as Lord Oropher is, he would not have survived the loss of both his sons and his wife. He lives because you live. Sometimes, we think our life does not matter, but we are all connected. Someone’s life depends on you living. Even if you do not know of it. So, do not talk lightly of your life, child. When your life was spared, it is because you have more to give to this world.”

“How could you believe that? After all that has happened. Even that Noldo?” Thranduil thought of that Noldorin archer and ground his teeth. One day, when he was old enough and powerful enough, he will find that archer and kill him with his own hands. Thranduil swore to himself.

“Yes. Even that Noldo. I believe he was spared because there is still more he is meant to do.”

“Even the Orcs and wargs and all those evil creatures?”

“They, too, have reasons for being here. Even if we may not understand it. That is the realm of Valar and of Eru. Your part is to walk the path given to you and know that you are a vital part of the larger world. Even at times when it seems like the world does not want you here, you exist because the world is in need of you. We are all part of the bigger things, Thranduil. Like the leaves that fall and rot on the ground. You may think the rotting leaves are worthless, that they only foul the air with their stench. But those things feed the trees and the flowers, making them grow strong and beautiful. Meaningless they seem, but they are an important part of what makes our world what it is. Do you understand, Thranduil?”

Himion padded Thranduil’s shoulder. Thranduil squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to believe, but the shadows circled all around him, their dark arms enfolding him into their fold.

_Help me, mother._

But Thranduil knew no help will come. Either he had to learn to walk on his own or fall into the bitter cold of the dark abyss that was opening under his feet, the choice was his and his alone.

 


End file.
